


River Of No Return

by Weedsekatze



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, First Meetings, Pining, Profanity, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 14:44:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15026924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weedsekatze/pseuds/Weedsekatze
Summary: He doesn't stare at her like the other patrons do. Yet something still lingers.





	River Of No Return

**Author's Note:**

> So... this one night I was yelling with Ghost about our OCs. And wouldn't you know it? Those two seem to be made for each other. We outlined a couple of scenarios together and this is what we came up with. <3 I tried to keep it under 1500 words.

He doesn't stare at her like the other patrons do. When she moves through the crowd, deliberate and slow, hips swaying to the unhurried melody of the song she's carrying on her lips, Rox feels the red-headed stranger's gaze on her body, but the moment is fleeting. Gone in a mere heartbeat.  
Yet, something still lingers.  
Draws her to him, time and time again.  
Of all the men and women enjoying her performance tonight, he seems to carry the heaviest weight on his shoulders. The first time she walks by him, the bottle he's not let go off ever since he sat down is already half empty. By the second time she comes around, he's holding his head in his hands, long fingers buried in his flaming hair, heavy lids still hiding the color of his eyes from her.  
And just as she sings about being alone and lost in stormy seas, she catches him downing almost the entire rest of the amber-colored booze in one go.  
Rox clenches the microphone tighter, if only to distract her from the stinging pain slowly creeping into her chest. Loss, she knows all too well, is never truly overcome, and his grief hangs heavy in the air. So heavy it seems almost tangible enough to touch.  
She acts instinctively, takes one step into his direction... and stills. Has to keep herself from physically reaching out for him and running her fingertips across the countless freckles that dot his handsome face. Something tells her he wouldn't welcome the comforting gesture.  
Instead, she heads for the person sitting closest to her, gently grazing their shoulder with the back of her hand and risking a quick sip from their glass of rum as the music swells into a wistful blend of instruments.  
_Hafiz would have loved it in here_ , she thinks in silent anguish. The alcohol – like liquid fire – fortunately slowly trickling down her throat and washing away the fleeting memories of her late husband as quickly as they came. _That's right, enough of this_ , she scolds herself. After all, she didn't come here to bemoan herself.  
Chaining her inner turmoil to the back of her mind, she puts the crystalline glass down, continues her song with a deep, soulful hum and... there it is again. A warm shiver running down her spine, pebbling her skin and making the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up.  
Only then she realizes she'd been waiting for this.  
When she looks at the stranger this time, she's surprised to see him openly watch her. Eyes as green as emeralds, shaded by dark-red brows, calmly focusing in on her. Studying her face closely, yet so deeply lost in the onslaught of his own emotions.  
And for a moment, she's utterly taken aback.  
It's only when there's a slight murmur disturbing the crowd, Rox realizes the song has continued on without her. Of course, the members of Tommy Torini's resident band had the necessary quick-wittedness to cover her absent-minded blunder with yet another impromptu solo performance, but undoubtedly, to observant audience members, her slight little slip-up must be blatantly obvious.  
It is to _him_ , she is sure of it.  
But he doesn't seem to mind. Their gaze still intertwined, he stares at her with such intensity, it makes her heart flutter. _Dios_ , that certainly hasn't happened to her in a very _long_ time.  
Whether he is aware of it or not, his eyes seem to ask for something, anything to take his mind of whatever's keeping him occupied. An unspoken request Rox is happy to oblige. She winks at him, breaking the tender, understanding tension between them with a bright smile. To her delight the corners of his lips curl up slightly, and the dark shadows clouding his expression seem to lift, if only for a short, luxurious moment. And then - far too soon – the moment is gone.  
His lashes fall and she's denied the caress of his hazel eyes once again. He grabs the bottle before him, but this time he doesn't bring it to his lips. Only looks at it in contemplation.  
She'd be lying if she said she didn't mourn the loss, but then again, it was her job to entertain _all_ of the patrons crowding the Aces tonight. It didn't matter how much she was drawn to him; if Tommy was not satisfied with her performance, her pay would certainly be cut short.  
And so the evening bleeds into the night, which bleeds into the early morning hours. Every now and then she feels the fleeting heat of stolen glances traveling down her spine. More than once she's tempted to return to him, only to think better of it. When her act comes to an end, Rox is not surprised to catch herself scouring the applauding crowd for him one last time. The spotlights shining down on her are too bright to make out his face, though.  
Behind the stage, Tommy awaits her already. Counting a small stash of bottlecaps laid out before him, he greets her with a short nod.  
„So... who's the VIP?“, she asks casually while undressing, voice husky and slightly exhausted. „I don't think I've seen him before.“  
„VIP?“ He's not listening, not really. She can hear him count under his breath, the quiet whispering accompanied by the constant clattering of caps.  
Rox rolls her eyes and pins up a strand of hair that's gotten loose during her performance. „Tall. Freckles? Red hair, green eyes.“ _Full of sorrow_. „It's the first time I've seen him around“, she shrugs, praying she doesn't sound too interested.  
It's ridiculous, really, but she can't get his smile out of her head. She'd very much like to see him do it again.  
„You mean the Courier?“, Tommy asks, finally looking up at her.  
She can't suppress the little sigh escaping her. Yet another monicker post-apocalyptic America was so terribly fond of. Although she _has_ heard of him before. „People are talking about him on the streets“, she notices, finally slipping into a more comfortable set of clothes.  
„They sure do, baby. After all, this is New Vegas“, he says as if that is supposed to explain everything, and offers her a cigarette. „It's because of him we're free to do what we want.“  
„Does he come here often?“, Rox wants to know.  
Tommy makes a hesitant noise, shoulders rising with uncertainty. And that's all she can squeeze out of him before he hands her her earnings and storms off in a busy flurry, already working on setting up the next act.  
The Courier. She'd heard rumors of a fight for New Vegas. Of the Legion and NCR, the tribes and casino owners, hell, some even claimed the Brotherhood of Steel had been involved.  
And in the middle of it all, they say, was him.  
Jesus Christ... the things he must've seen if only a fraction of these tales is true...  
Of course, when she returns to the showroom, he's long gone, the VIP area glaringly empty. She had not expected him to be there... still, a tiny part of her is deeply disappointed to have missed him. But Rox is determined to not let this keep her from brightening his day once more. On her way out, she stops at the bar, slamming the better part of her pay on the counter and curling her finger at the bartender.  
„You know you can drink here for free, right?“, he greets her with a broad smile.  
„Yeah, but this isn't for me“, she answers, tapping the ash off her cigarette. „The next time the Courier's here, make sure to give him your finest brand of...“, she pauses for a moment, thinking back to the bottle he had been nursing the entire night. „... Whiskey. It's on me.“  
The bartender raises a brow, unabashedly nosy. Rox doesn't indulge him.“Make sure he gets it, yeah?“  
„And what kind of message do you want me to pass along with it?“ Digging deeper, he leans over the counter.  
„None“, she insists. All she wants is for him to enjoy himself, without having to wonder about the implications such a gesture normally carries. Most likely she would be on her way back to the Commonwealth by the time he receives her gift, as it is. „Tell him it's on the house if you absolutely have to say something. Just... promise me you'll do it.“ Of all the eyes that had been fixated on her tonight, his still haunt her the most.  
„Alright, Roxie. Sure deal. But you owe me.“  
She nods. „Don't I always?“  
Only this time she doesn't mind in the slightest.


End file.
